"Well, Daddy. You'd be very disappointed in me right now if you were aware and, you know, conscious." Christine spoke to her comatose father. He didn't respond, of course, but Christine wasn't looking for a response. She just wanted someone to listen without criticizing. She hadn't bothered with doing anything to her hair or changing out of her sweats before leaving the house and she was sure she must have looked like hell. With the door to the private room shut and the lights dimmed to match the evening light outside, she didn't really care. She was alone with her Daddy again, even if it wouldn't ever be like old times again. Frank checked in once or twice but she promptly sent him away again, promising that she could handle anything by herself. She had the medication and all the supplies she would need, should something go wrong. The two of them would be just fine alone.

But Christine couldn't help but wish that someone else was there with her. He was back at her home, undoubtedly receiving glares and unneeded advice from her darling mother. The image of Michael gaping at her while she brought up different scenarios almost made Christine laugh. Almost. She told her father about Michael, about what had happened, about how she'd felt about it, about how she felt now.

"I'm not so sure that I'd be entirely opposed to a relationship with him, to be honest." She mumbled after looking around to make sure that no one had come in. "I mean, he'd have to ask, of course. I'm not going to be that forward. And I don't want him to think that I'm a crazed fan or anything." Leaning forward to rest her arms on the edge of the bed and her chin on her arms, she kept her eyes on Jason's lids and checked the monitors several times. Between checking his vitals and talking to him, Christine fell asleep. It had been a long day, her head hurt and she hadn't gotten much sleep the night before. She didn't get the chance to nod off for long, though, because soon she felt a sharp pressure on her shoulder as though someone had been poking her urgently with one finger. Her eyes flew open and she looked up to see her father's eyes open. He was jabbing her repeatedly in the arm with his index finger and pointing to the tube in his throat with the other. She stood up quickly and, looking around again, took out the tube while her father coughed routinely.

Christine had never seen her father cry. She had never seen a tear gather in his eye, she had never seen him sniffle emotionally. In fact, he was so emotionally closed down sometimes that it was hard to tell if he was even happy about something. Christine inherited that from him, she had a hard time showing her emotions at the most important times. This was the first time a tear had ever traveled down the both of their faces at the same time. Carefully, she wrapped her arms around him, buried her face in his shoulder and cried. He shuttered with sobs, as well as he did his very best to hold her close to him. It was as though they hadn't seen each other in a long time. Eventually, they separated and dried their eyes. He gave her a strange look and held her at arms length.

"Chris...I had a strange dream that you told me you slept with Michael Jackson." Laughter bubbled from her and so did tears. Immediately, she was laughing and crying at the same time, blubbering that it hadn't been a dream at all. Then she took a deep break and explained what was going on and then insisted that he could not tell anyone. He continued to give her that strange, disbelieving expression.

"Does your mother know about this?" He asked slowly, as though she were the one who could hallucinate at any time rather than him. "Christine, are you feelin' okay? Maybe you ought to sit back down."

"No, Daddy. I'm fine. I'm workin' for him, have been for the past couple of days. Look, d'you want me to go get Frank so that he can tell you? He set it up."

"No, no, that's alright. I believe you. But, Christine. You slept with the man? Chris, that's just...stupid."

"Yeah, you know, I think I liked it better when you were in a coma." She grumbled and stood up straighter. He glared at her and she glared back until there was a small knock on the door. They broke their eye contact so that Christine could go answer it. And she threw herself into the guest's arms immediately, burying her face into his neck and bursting into tears all over again.

"Good heavens." Michael said, taking her against him and raising his eyebrows in surprise. "Should someone call your family?"

"Oh, no. No, he's fine. He's awake! And now he'll believe me. Please come in." With a hand-holding initiated by Michael, she brought him into the hospital room and introduced him to her father. Then, realizing that he was actually there, Christine turned back to face him. "How'd you get in here without a mob?"

"Told 'em I was E Casanova, not me." He said with a simple shrug.

"Alright...I don't know who that is, but cool." She turned back to her father, patted Michael's chest and grinned. "Toldja I wasn't liein'." She said. He was staring at them blankly.

"Am I hallucinating right now?" He asked, but a grin spread across his face. The three laughed and they spent the rest of the afternoon in deep conversation about nothing in particular.